


The reader leaning late and reading there.

by MagiaSomniaque



Category: To All the Boys I've Loved Before Series - Jenny Han
Genre: Canon - Book, College, F/M, Future Fic, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 04:03:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15743877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagiaSomniaque/pseuds/MagiaSomniaque
Summary: Scenes from freshman year





	The reader leaning late and reading there.

**Author's Note:**

> I have never written any fanfic before (outside of a high school attempt at a Harry Potter AU in the style of Battle Royale that never really got off the ground), but something about this series- these characters, really- is making me. I know Jenny Han said she wasn't going to continue Laura Jean's story, but I just wanted to try to puzzle out myself how it might all go.
> 
> I have no update schedule, but I do have scenes that I know I want to write, which is also how I know the rating for this series will eventually go up.
> 
> I have no beta so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Titles from the Wallace Stevens poem The House Was Quiet and The World Was Calm

It is honestly kind of the perfect last night before going away to college: me and Peter, lying on our backs in the balmy dark, hearing only our own breaths as we watch the Perseids meteors streaking through the sky. I keep getting lost in my own head, though, and I can’t concentrate on what we are here to see. I keep thinking about how I’m not going to see Peter again for four months. This is our last night together! It has to be really good so it holds us over till then!

Peter’s fingers, loosely woven through my own, briefly tighten. “Covey, you’re thinking so loud I can practically hear your internal monologue. Relax.”

As much as I normally appreciate Peter’s perceptiveness, never in the history of human beings has being told to relax ever helped anyone relax. Without any real heat, I reply, “Peter, never in the history of human beings has being told to relax ever helped anyone relax. Plus, I am relaxed. Shut up.”

His laugh is a breathy, barely there thing. “Mmhmm, okay. I’ll just lie here and pretend you’re not quietly freaking out about leaving tomorrow then.”

I jolt upright and turn to him, peering down at him with wide eyes. “How are you not?! I keep thinking about everything I’m going to miss about you and in your life in the four months while you’re here at UVA and I’m four hours away at UNC! What if we come back here and we’re awkward and we’ve ruined it?” I turn my face up and away from him as I feel tears pushing up from the backs of my eyes.

Peter shoves up on one elbow, twisting his torso to turn toward me, too. With his other hand, he reaches out and snags my hand out of the air, where I am waving it through the air next to my head like a lunatic. 

“Lara Jean, look at me.” I take a breath, and I really do look at him. His Handsome Boy face- more of a Handsome Man face now, really- is turned up to me, open and earnest; I melt just a little, like I always do. “First, it’s only 3 hours and 25 minutes from Charlottesville to Chapel Hill. Second, it’s not going to be four straight months of being away from one another. You’re coming to see me over Columbus Day. We’ll be home for Thanksgiving. Also, we have cell phones? Like, we regularly text each other from opposite sides of the same room; it’ll work over greater distances, too. We’ll be good.”

I give him a face. I don’t want to be the one to say it, but in a small voice, I croak: “But what if we’re not good?” I can feel the tears spill down my cheeks now, the pressure in my eyes bubbling over. 

He sits up fully, then, cradling my face in his hands. They’re so big his fingers cover my ears. He looks me in the eyes; I can see his eyes tracking from one side to the other, over and over. 

“Do you want us to be good?” he asks. He sounds so serious; it’s the tone he uses only when talking about us. I nod my head; I can’t trust my voice just now.

“Do you love me?” I nod more firmly this time.

“Then we will be good.” he says fiercely. “I love you, and you love me. It’s not going to be easy, but those are the hardest things. Everything else we can deal with because we’ll deal with it together.”

Hearing him say that, his confidence in us, and seeing his face just then, how deadly serious he is, I can breathe again, and the tears stop. I bring my hands up and grab each of his wrists, anchoring myself to him while he still holds my face in his hands. He is so gentle sometimes; looking at him, you’d think he’d be more goofy klutzy, like a big dog who doesn’t know it and still tries to sit in your lap, but he isn’t. I guess it’s probably because he’s an athlete.

We sit like that for a while longer, him holding my face and us just looking at each other. Isn’t it strange how you can look at the same face a million times and still get that Mexican jumping bean feeling in your chest? When I can’t stand it any longer, I bring my forehead to his and close my eyes. I slide my hands up, over his still resting on my cheeks, and he takes my hands in his. He shifts and kisses me, just a light peck, and then withdraws to lie back down. I follow, pressing my side to his and using his arm as a pillow. We lie like that for a long time, and this time, I am calm, more able to appreciate the beauty of the meteors’ fiery paths above. Eventually, I drift off to sleep.


End file.
